Memories
by coffeebuddha
Summary: When Ambrose woke up from the surgery that gave him back his brain, his first thoughts weren't of his queen, his princess, or the O.Z. Instead, he remembered intelligent eyes, a blinding smile, and the woman they belonged to. Oneshot.


Memories

AN: Standard disclaimers apply.

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When Ambrose woke up in the castle after the surgery, his first thought was not to thank Ozma for his good fortune. He didn't feel a wave of gratitude for his queen or the alchemists who had seen his brain put safely back where it belonged. There was no silent praising of Princess DG, who was finally home and had made things right. Instead, he thought of quick gray eyes, a brilliant smile that glowed brighter when turned on him, and a lithe yielding body stretched out under his own lanky form.

Over the years that he spent as Glitch, Ambrose suffered from many nightmares. Glitch was never certain where they came from-long forgotten stories, his imagination, or even the shredded remains of his memory. What he did know was that when the nightmares came, the fragments of happy maybe-memories were more than enough to slow his heartbeat and lull him back to sleep.

The night he first realized this he had jolted awake, drenched in cold sweat and gasping for breath, and had frantically tried to calm himself by listing all the things he was certain of. Feet were most commonly used for walking, the small red berries he had eaten earlier made his stomach ache worse than hunger did, there were two suns and one moon. He paused there, feeling like there was something incredibly important on the very cusp of his memory that he should include in the list, but the harder he thought, the more that something seemed to retreat. After a few minutes he slumped in defeat.

As he began to drift back to sleep, the images and sensations came to him in quick, brilliant flashes. A bright, wide smile, that was made all the more charming by being slightly crooked. Intelligent eyes, the same soft gray as a dove, framed by pale, bristly eyelashes. The silky feel of fistfuls of honey colored hair. The smell of sunshine, sweat, and something distinctly feminine. The feel of cool, slim fingers gently tugging at curls that adorned a zipper-free scalp. As he slipped into a peaceful sleep, he could just hear a husky, slightly off-key voice singing a sad love song.

As time crawled by, he came to realize that memories and ideas had a tendency to slip though his fingers as easily as water, but for some reason those few brief glimpses of what he thought his life must have been like before the zipper never faded.

Over the years that he spent as Glitch, Ambrose suffered from many nightmares, but he only ever found one surefire cure.

It was not altogether surprising then that when he woke up in the castle after his surgery with that familiar sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, he kept his eyes closed and summoned the fragments. What did surprise him was that instead of a few brief exerts he suddenly had full memories at his disposal. He laid there completely stunned for several minutes and remembered.

He remembered a young woman with hair like honey on a warm summer day, shrewd gray eyes that could go from elated to furious in the time it took to blink, and a brilliant smile that burned through him like the sun. His viewpoint was almost always from above, because even in her highest heels she barely reached his shoulder. Most would not consider her beautiful, but her intensity saw that few forgot her.

He remembered the only daughter of a widower who, in addition to the girl, also had four sons and had raised them all roughly the same, so that his daughter was able to hunt and roughhouse better than she could embroider or dance. She was impulsive, spoiled, headstrong, and more abrasive than any young woman of noble birth he had ever met. She was also fiercely loyal, loving, and a more brilliant strategist than any man he had ever met.

He remembered long, friendly hours spent huddled over a chessboard. He had initially been furious that a girl who was barely into her teens could best him so easily. That anger had slowly turned into respect and fondness as the girl continually popped up in his workshop to watch him work or coerce him into playing a game.

He remembered the girl growing older, and, after seeing her tripping around a dance floor with partner after partner at a ball, realizing that he no longer saw her as a little girl.

He remembered ravenous, frantic nights and slow, languid consumptions. He could feel her hot, damp breath on his neck and shoulders. His fingers remembered the feel of soft, sun kissed skin. He could taste her sweetness on his lips and hear her low, breathy gasps.

He remembered sleepless nights when she went missing for nearly six months mere days after Azkadellia began publicly raising an army. When she was finally found, disguised as a man and fighting as a foot soldier, he'd been too relieved to do anything but laugh. And when she returned to the castle, to him, he had reverently kissed her upturned face, burned brown as a nut, while she slipped newly calloused hands under his shirt.

She was a brat. She was an adventure. She was impossible. She was his.

He remembered.

When he finally opened his eyes, DG was crouched over him, her forehead creased with concern. Ambrose barely heard her ask him how he was feeling. He tilted his face in her direction and murmured the only word he could focus on. "Claire."

His princess looked confused, but he ignored her. His newly repaired mind was racing, flying as it pieced together bits and pieces of hushed conversations he had overheard since Queen Lavender had reclaimed her throne a few months ago. He carefully reconstructed rumors and reports. He ran through long lists of nobles who had returned to the castle, returned to their estates, and those who where incapable of doing either. As many times as he completed the process, he could only come to one conclusion.

And so, as a frantic DG called for alchemists, doctors, nurses, _anyone_ who could help, Ambrose pressed his face into his pillow and wept.

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AN: Despite a long love for writing, I haven't written anything other than research papers since 2006, so please go easy on me. I don't know if the fic is good, or even interesting to anyone but me, but it absolutely wouldn't leave me alone until I put it in writing. I'm not sure why I'm posting it. Reviews are welcome and critiques warm me to the very cockles of my heart.

To make a long story short, I had a dream a few nights ago where Ambrose, pre-witch, met and fell in love with a young noblewoman named Claire. Memories is more or less the ending of the dream. The idea that Ambrose _did_have someone before he lost his brain is something that's been poking up in my brain ever since I first realized that the general consensus seems to be that he was incapable of getting any girl. There's a slim chance that I might end up writing a fanficbased on the dream, but my track record says that that's pretty improbable. For now it just gets to be something I daydream about when I sit at traffic lights or try to fall asleep.


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